


antinous

by casp



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Eventual Death, Eventual Smut, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, WIP, but with sooncheol, if yall know how THAT ENDED LOL, self indulgent history fic, sooncheol, this is basically fanfc of antinous and hadrien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 07:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14972357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casp/pseuds/casp
Summary: Seungcheol is weak. And weakness on the road is not something any of his party can fix.How many Emperors have died in this river?





	antinous

**Author's Note:**

> BASICALLY,,, THIS IS ME BEing a history nerd and casting coups as hadrien and hosh as antinous. if youve never heard that story, please look it up. very real history and a very depressing romance. and also a spoiler to this fic lol.  
> THIS IS BASICALLY A DRAFT BTW BE NICE ITS BARELY A PREVIEW

Horse hooves clacking and thumping, a river bubbling with quiet violence, crisping autumn leaves that fell and shuffled beneath them. It’s sounds of late October on the road, the Emperor and his entourage all horseback and clad in the red of their kingdom. Something is out of place though: a horrendous cough that had plagued the Emperor since they’d stopped for supplies probably two towns before now. 

“Let’s rest awhile.” Blonde curls bounce in the breeze, shining all the more gold in the afternoon sun, and blazed warm against golden tan skin- still paler than the rest of their party. Soft brown eyes turned over his shoulder to smile at the Emperor, pleading. “For the horses.” Liar.

His muscles were less defined, too. He was by no means weak, but the Emperor would never let Soonyoung strain like he did the rest of them. He could never be a prince, but he would always be treated like one. 

The party of course didn’t stop, until he made an official order. “Let’s stop and make camp, we should hunt before sunset.”

It was certainly well before sun down, why did he decree they halt for the night? How obvious was the wheezing in his voice? 

“Thank you, Seungcheol.” Ah, but the worry was worth it, all for that uncalloused touch from Soonyoung, the smile that made his appreciation true. They’d both dismounted, and Seungcheol put his own worn, broad hand over Soonyoung’s, a hopeful smile filling thick lips.

* * *

 

“You must eat, my love,” he pleaded, his own bowl empty. For someone so thin, he always managed to eat more than his share.

“I’ve told you, I’m not hungry. I ate plenty in Hermopolis Magna, and we’ve enough dry food to make it to the next city.”

He coughed again, into his arm, and used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his forehead-- he hadn’t moved much since they’d made their fire and set their tents, there was no reason for him to perspire. Soonyoung shook his head, pulling more meat from the stew and setting it in Seungcheol’s still full bowl. It shook, hands uneasy from his fever. The rest of their party pretended not to notice, and it wasn’t the way Soonyoung doted on him that they ignored-- the Emperor was sick. 

How many Emperor’s have died in this river? 

“ Asclepius help him,” Soonyoung whispered, and finally someone acknowledged them, even if it was with a scoff. Seungcheol couldn’t blame him-- Soonyoung worshipped the Greek gods, and that had always seemed silly to him. He’d worship whatever god could make this ache go away though. 

His wheezing is much worse an hour later, after Seungcheol’s gotten two bites of the stew down without immediately wanting to vomit. Soonyoung encourages him gently, moving himself to sit directly beside him and rub his back, force the spoon to his dry lips. He was always like that: gentle but persistent. He won all their arguments that way too. 

“Come morning, you’ll be right as rain. Sleep will heal you, I’m sure of it, but you must eat to help your strength. We’ll go home, and the doctors will help you.” Soonyoung, positive and bright as always, but Seungcheol could tell by the lilt in his voice he didn’t mean it. How could he? Athens was days away from them, weeks even, with how little Seungcheol could travel. Their best bet was to keep moving forward, from towns to villages, and pray that they had someone a little more trustworthy than a medicine man. 

“You know I met you on one of these trips,” the Emperor smiled, his dark eyes flashing against the flames and coming back to life with the help of his fondest memories. He leaned himself against the log behind him, arm resting against its’ smooth top, and ran his fingers through Soonyoung’s blonde curls. “I wanted to see the Empire my father built, and I came to Claudiopolis to attend a feast celebrating my coronation.”

“I know, I remember. You were still trying to grow a beard,” the blonde smiled, reaching near to touch the stubble that had formed during their days away from a proper bath house. Seungcheol turned away to cough before continuing. 

“I wanted to look powerful! You can’t blame me for trying. You were at the feast--”

“My mother was high in the temple, so our family had a seat.” 

Seungcheol paused, his eyes on Soonyoung’s lips. “There’s not much need to recall the rest of that night, hm?” 

He lived for the way pink blossomed on his boy’s cheeks. It always started at the tips of his ears, then spread to his cheeks. If he was lucky, it would stretch all the way down his neck and his chest, flushed like a pale rose for Seungcheol to touch and nurture and protect and own and--

“Seungcheol, you're staring.” A quiet but flattered voice broke his chain of thought, and Seungcheol had a difficult time pulling his eyes from where Soonyoung’s flat, soft chest was just barely exposed. 

“Want you.” His voice is low and scratched, only for him. “Want you, my love.”

Soonyoung laughed, leaning over and touching his thigh. “But you have me,  _ my love.” _

“Ah, he teases me.”

“Perhaps a little. It’s just nice to see my king smile.”

And smile he did. “Don’t call me that when it’s just us,” he whispered. His hand stilled on the back of Soonyoung’s neck, and he watched as his smile grew, so smooth and soft. His smile was crooked. Seungcheol loved it. 

“Sorry. Seungcheol. Cheol. Granted, it’s not really  _ just us.” _

The bubble around them popped, and Seungcheol was suddenly hyper aware of the rest of his party, of the noise they made: mumbled talking, laughing, drinking and eating. Not paying the pair any real attention, but certainly not  _ not  _ noticing. They didn't matter- not right now, anyway. Right now Seungcheol had something important to do. He had to recount every freckle on Soonyoung’s face. Memorize every laugh line, every stressed wrinkle, every eyelash, every imperfection, all of him. How warm he felt, his soft soft skin, his hair, his crooked smile-- Seungcheol felt something sad but warm wash over him, and he took a deep breath. 

“You are staring again!” Soonyoung laughed, but the Emperor can tell the exact moment he realizes something is off. His smile fell, his eyes searched Seungcheol’s, his arm curled around him just a fraction tighter. “What, what is it?”

It takes a minute for him to reply, still so lost in his features and his aura. He wanted to remember this too, no matter how sad. He wanted to remember feeling so warm and special, cared for, attended to, by Soonyoung. 

“Nothing, angel. I only wanted to ensure this is what I’ll see before Mercury finds me.” 

Soonyoung is visibly upset at that, but he says nothing. They all know it's true: Seungcheol is  _ weak,  _ and weakness, especially on the road, isn't something they can do much about. Soonyoung leaned his head down, touching his forehead carefully against Seungcheol’s shoulder. His love, his perfect angel, his muse, he was doing everything he could, he knew, but there wasn't much left from here but comfort. 


End file.
